


deep in the dairy sea

by breadrave



Category: Dimension 20 (Web Series)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Character Study, Coming Out, F/F, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-03
Updated: 2020-07-05
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:35:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25053250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/breadrave/pseuds/breadrave
Summary: The worst day of Annabelle Cheddar’s life is beautiful. The Dairy Islands are known for the way that the Bulb shines off of the milky ocean at sunset, the frothy waves crashing into the beach at the edge of Lacramor, and on this particular day, the Bulb shone down especially sweetly on the Castle of House Cheddar, making the entire building appear vibrant and glowing. Annabelle feels sick to her stomach.(annabelle cheddar, pre-canon. this might get more chapters added later but it is complete and finished right now)
Relationships: Annabelle Cheddar & Primsy Coldbottle, Annabelle Cheddar/Original Character(s)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 20





	1. i'll look back at this moment and see that i'm fine

**Author's Note:**

> alternative title: watch how hard i can project onto this woman made of cheese!
> 
> the title for this chapter comes from c7osure by lil nas x!

The worst day of Annabelle Cheddar’s life is beautiful. The Dairy Islands are known for the way that the Bulb shines off of the milky ocean at sunset, the frothy waves crashing into the beach at the edge of Lacramor, and on this particular day, the Bulb shone down especially sweetly on the Castle of House Cheddar, making the entire building appear vibrant and glowing. Annabelle feels sick to her stomach. 

She sits on a chair in front of a vanity, her hair being brushed back into an updo by her handmaiden, Orda Brie, daughter of Sir Morris. Annabelle shifts uncomfortably, gazing out her window to the shoreline, wishing she were anywhere but getting ready for a formal dinner with her mother. She looks into the mirror briefly, meeting Brie’s eyes. She tries to smile, but it doesn’t look right.

“Aye, madam, I know that you don’t like being fancy, but I’m afraid the queen insisted on traditional formal dress,” Orda says apologetically, skillfully twisting Annabelle’s hair out of her face.

“I know, Orda. It's not your doing,” Annabelle replies, taking the time to look into Orda’s face while she is deeply concentrated on a piece of Annabelle’s hair that is being difficult. She is beautiful in the way that light passes through the trees at the height of the day, beautiful like seeing the living creatures building their homes in the deep woods, beautiful like cool water that you bathe in without fear of being interrupted. Annabelle looks away. She doesn’t feel better.

“Do you know why Princess Pecorina wants to call a traditional familial meal tonight?” Orda asks, clearly curious but trying to give off the air that it didn’t matter. 

Annabelle gazes forward, the light from the Bulb reflecting off the orange and yellow of the walls of the castle. She knows why her mother is calling her to dinner. It is the same reason that Annabelle has been lying awake at night for the past week. Gabriel Camembert has made it clear that he intends to propose to her. Her mother intends for her to accept his hand and become the reigning Princess of the Dairy Islands. 

Annabelle intends to refuse and revoke her right to rule.

Orda twists a piece of her hair too tightly and Annabelle blinks, pretending that the tears in her eyes are a result of the sharp pain.

She is sure that this is the only way for her to feel right. Something has always been wrong with her, or rather, with the image of her on the throne, some faceless man as the Prince. She has never been able to picture herself married, and every time she thought about the nebulous future in which she sat on the throne, it was always solitary, even though that was forbidden by Dairy Island laws. 

The future that she can picture for herself far more clearly is one in which she leaves the Castle, soaks her feet in the Dairy Sea, takes off in the Colby, and forgets what it feels like to be promised to someone that makes her feel so deeply wrong. If the only way that she can get to that future is by abandoning her right for the throne, so be it. 

Orda breaks through her thoughts, “Madam, I’ve just about finished your hair, and the queen expects you in the dinner chambers shortly. Shall I escort you there or do you wish for me to go ahead?”

Annabelle blinks. “You can go ahead,” she finally replies, “I’d like a few moments to myself.”

But as Orda turns around to go, Annabelle remembers another day, when they were both younger, when Orda was essentially just Annabelle’s friend, when they had been gloriously alone, outside of the reach of adults, and Annabelle had stared at Orda all she wanted without fear.

“If I were not going to be Princess,” Annabelle had asked on that day, holding Orda’s hand as they both stood in a field of knee-deep grass, shoes abandoned and dresses dirty, looking towards the forest ahead where they liked to play fairies, “do you think you would still be my friend?”

Orda had turned to her and squeezed her hand tightly, the light glinting off of her eyes as she whispered back, “Belle, I would be your friend even if the Bulb fell out of the sky.”

They had not played together in years, something held Annabelle back from Orda. She did not give out affection as freely as she used to, worried that Orda would push her away. When she had asked that question, it was to a much closer friend than the one that was before her now. 

Annabelle desperately hopes that the answer to her long ago question was still the same.

“Wait,” She interrupts, standing abruptly from her seat at the vanity, stopping Orda with one hand on the door, “Orda, if I were not going to be the Princess…” but she cannot finish the question. A deep pain washes over her. It’s unfair of her to ask this much of her handmaiden, and there’s a power imbalance in their relationship, regardless of what promises they had made in youth. “I’m sorry, it was nothing. You may go now.” 

But the other woman does not move, her brown eyes on Annabelle’s face. She gently shuts the door, remaining in the room with Annabelle, and she moves back towards her before grabbing her hand, squeezing it just like she did in the grasses. 

“I am by your side regardless of station, Annabelle,” Orda breaths, standing so close to Annabelle that she could count the freckles on her face, see the individual strands of her long hair tied loosely back. 

Annabelle is intoxicated. She inhales deeply, and suddenly everything seems to make sense. The world tilts and shifts beneath her, and she can see the path in front of her as clear as the light from the Bulb. 

“I cannot marry Gabriel Camembert. Her majesty expects me to but I cannot give myself to him. I cannot even explain why I can’t, I don’t even know,” Annabelle rambles, the confusion of the past few months bubbling to the surface, and she can feel beyond the past few months of actively questioning her role as future Princess to the past few years of deepening unhappiness, quiet discontent developing into a heavy sadness that made Annabelle retreat from her friendship with Orda. 

“You don’t love him?”

“It’s more than that,” Annabelle tries to explain, aware of the short time left before she has to attend dinner with her mother. “When I think about having to marry him, to be with him at all, it’s like my skin is being set on fire. It just feels so wrong my soul cannot allow it to happen.” 

Orda looks confused, but nods anyway. Annabelle does not know what she is going to say before she does, “I would much rather marry someone like you.”

Until those words come out of Annabelle’s mouth, she has never considered the other side of her worry. She had spent so much of the past months agonizing over her revulsion at the idea of marrying Gabriel, she had not considered who she did want to marry. She had been ignoring it. And it rapidly becomes clear to her.

Orda lets go of her hand, looking wounded, “Madam, I don’t know what to say. We shall never be able to marry. You should not wish that.” The last sentences are a whisper, as she turns from the room, leaving Annabelle, who looks away from the open door that Orda just walked through down at her feet, which are barefoot against the cheese-stone floor. She does not move for several moments, but she knows she must face her mother and the decisions that she has made. After one last longing glance at the window towards the Dairy Seashore, she slides on a pair of flats and leaves her bedroom. 

Tarthur Cheddar stares down at her from a portrait on the wall and she briefly pauses before it. With an imposing frame and stern expression, she is glad that he is not here for this. Annabelle does not have many memories of her father, but she remembers a stoic man that spoke of incoming war, and is certain that if he were alive today, she would have swallowed down the deep wrongness in her soul to marry Gabriel. Speaking her truth to her mother would be easier. Or she hopes it would be. 

She has to convince herself of every step that she takes, feeling herself growing pale and lightheaded as she arrives at the chambers where her mother waits. She knocks on the door and receives permission to enter, customary when dining with the Princess, even if the Princess is your mother. Annabelle steps into the large room, lit by candles mounted into the wall. There are several windows, but the curtains have been drawn to make the room look cozier and darker, and at the head of the table sits Princess Pecorina, who is talking deeply with an advisor, but shoos him away when Annabelle enters. Annabelle has a hard time breathing.

She sits in her place at the table to the Princess’ left, not looking at Orda where she waits to serve food and drink. The room feels blurry, even as Annabelle looks at her mother’s care worn face, the wrinkles betraying the stress that the Princess is under, recovering the Dairy Islands from the devastation of the Ravening War. Annabelle looks remarkably like her mother, they have the same freckles and cheekbones, but Pecorina wears her hair in a long bob, which tonight is pulled into a small bun, her head adorned with a crown of flowers. Her dress is floral too, embroidered flowers ring the collar and sleeves of her mother’s shirt — it makes Annabelle feel uncomfortably underdressed. 

Pecorina waits until the food is served before she speaks, saying “I’m sure you know what I want to talk to you about.”

“Yes,” Annabelle’s hands are trembling as she begins to cut into her food, unable to say anything else.

“It’s high time you married, you’ll need to before you are Princess, and I believe with certainty that word has gotten back to you about the oldest Camembert son’s plans to offer his hand,” Pecorina says slowly, clearly leading Annabelle to a response, but Annabelle’s chest is too tight to speak, she feels like she’s being squeezed tightly. 

Without saying anything, Annabelle looks away from her mother to the window, the deep red curtain blocking out the view of the outside. She wants nothing more than to run over and pull the curtain aside.

“Mother,” she begins, not turning her gaze, visualizing herself ripping the curtain off the wall, “I cannot marry Gabriel.”

“You do not love him? Of course you don’t, but, my girl, you will eventually come to know him-”

Annabelle remembers Orda asking her the same question minutes ago, and wishes it were only that. She could make herself marry someone she did not love, but she cannot become an enemy to herself in the way that marrying a man would require. Finally, she looks at her mother, her hands still shaking, her senses on high alert, “I do not wish to ever marry.”

Pecorina sets down her silverware, deeply serious. “Leave us, please,” she commands, and the various servants who attend to them at dinner leave the room. The silence that settles over the two of them makes Annabelle want to scream just to break the tension, but she holds her resolve, continuing to look into her mother’s eyes unafraid.

“Do you understand what this means? You are the sole heir of House Cheddar, if you refuse to marry the right to rule will be passed to,” here Pecorina pauses, metally reviewing their family tree, “to the oldest Coldbottle child. Who, need I remind you, is not even a teenager yet.”

Annabelle balks at that, the image of young Primsy Coldbottle being Princess of the Dairy Islands sits heavily on her, but she cannot betray her own soul for the sake of holding onto power.

“I do not intend to marry anybody,” Annabelle echoes.

“Why?” Pecorina leans closer to her daughter, reaching out a hand, which Annabelle takes, simultaneously wishing for and dreading the idea of her mother comforting her.

Annabelle breaks their eye contact. The room is dark. She mumbles, “There is something wrong with me, mother. I don’t… I cannot make myself love a man. No matter what. I’ve… tried, I’ve wanted to, but I can’t. I know it's disappointing and it’s wrong but I can’t change it.”

She is softly crying now, her confession making her feel weightless and deeply afraid. She has told her mother now, that means it is true. Her mother’s face softens, and Pecorina stands, tugging on Annabelle’s hand to force her to stand as well, and pulls her in for a tight hug. They embrace for a long time, the candlelight continuing to flicker, and the only sound that can be heard is Annabelle’s sobs. She can smell her mother’s perfume, earthy and floral, so distinctly different from the natural scent of the Dairy Islands. Eventually she pulls back, not looking at her mother.

“I’m sorry-”

“No, no, I’m sorry,” Pecorina interrupts, “I never want you to think that I put anything before you.”

“But you’d be right to,” Annabelle shuffles a bit away from her mother, “The fate of the Dairy Islands are more important than me and my wants.”

“Nothing is more important than you doing what is right for you,” Pecorina reaches out to cup Annabelle’s face in her hands, and Annabelle feels safe and loved for the first time in years, ignoring the small part of her brain that replays Orda leaving the room.


	2. face me entirely (two moments by the sea)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> title for this chapter is inspired by no face by haley heynderickx!

Annabelle is awake in the dead of night. This is not particularly uncommon. She can’t sleep with the weight of it all. The worry about disappointing those that she loved, the knowledge that she already had and would live to disappoint again. When the moon shone through her window at just the right angle, it shone directly in her face, and she could do nothing but stare at it, letting her anger at the rigid rules of the Dairy Islands run through her veins. 

She had officially been disinherited. It sounded much worse than it actually was, her mother had assured her that she was not mad at Annabelle the entire way through, but Annabelle could not help but worry that she was piling more problems onto Pecorina’s plate, a woman who had not asked to be Princess during wartime, much less to run a country alone. Pecorina still sometimes looked sadly at Annabelle, like she was wishing that her daughter were someone different, and Annabelle internalized this wish. She wished that she were a different person. 

The feelings of shame and guilt made her restless, and it was especially strong tonight, for just this morning her mother had made a comment about how deeply disappointed Gabriel Camembert was since she had declared she would not marry. It cut deep, all of the hard work Annabelle had put into justifying the decision to herself crumbled away. Pecorina had been overall very understanding, but she shut Annabelle down everytime her daughter wanted to talk more about the way she was feeling. Annabelle seemed forbidden to talk about her lack of love for men, and if that was the case, she had not dared bring up the way that she felt a thousand cheddar bees flying around her stomach when she saw a beautiful woman at court. Her mother is trying, but she doesn’t understand, and she doesn’t want to listen, making Annabelle worry she never would. It is complicated, Annabelle is simultaneously happy for the support that she is getting, but severely wanting for the support that has been withheld.

Annabelle turns toward the moon tonight. The moon is very important to those of the Dairy Islands. Ancient texts from long ago claimed that it was made out of cheese, and the tides that it created were imperative for the survival of the coastal towns. Tonight, the moon only shone halfway, the other half obscured by darkness. Annabelle stares at it as she tries to work through her feelings. She truly doubts that Gabriel is upset that he cannot marry her, he is likely more upset that he will not be Prince, and in that regard, she does not feel bad for him in the slightest. It is more upsetting that her mother would not hear her. Annabelle rolls fully on her side, transfixed by the moon, half shining and half hidden away. 

The restlessness wins. The moon has seen Annabelle do this before, and shines extra brightly as she puts on a pair of simple brown trousers, a dark coat over her nightshirt, and her worn boots. She slips out of her room and stealthily leaves the castle, the soft crunch of the cheese gravel is the only sound that floats on the wind. She walks down the path that leads from the Castle to the shoreline. It winds through several parts of Lacramor proper, but Annabelle has trod this path often enough to know what bits of grass she has to cut through to remain unseen. 

As she creeps to the ocean, she can see a ship far out on the horizon, the black silhouette stark against the white sea. Annabelle stares at the boat, wishing she could captain one someday. Her father left her the Colby, but it won’t be properly hers until she is of age, even though she has been sailing her whole life. _The Colby is going to be my home one day,_ she thinks.

Annabelle sits on the shore, alone. She listens to the waves, and stares up at the moon, maybe made of cheese, maybe not, and begins to speak.

“I don’t think my mom will ever love me the way I am. I don’t think anyone will. I just… I hate it. I’m messing it all up with Gabriel and with the throne and all I do is ruin things. I’ve ruined the way that people see my family and the way they see my mom and I don’t think that’ll ever change,” she shifts, double checking that there is nobody around. Her eyes find no one else along this stretch of parmesan sand.

The moon does not respond to her, but Annabelle has always felt better when she talks through her feelings out loud, so she doesn’t care if the moon listens or not. 

“I just want everything to change. I want to sail so far away that nobody has heard of House Cheddar…” she trails off, staring out over the open ocean. The ship is too far from shore for her to hear the sounds of camaraderie and revelry, but she can imagine them so strongly that they might be real. “I want people who like me. They… they don’t have to love me. I want someone to listen to me. I want it all to feel better one day.” 

Annabelle sits on the beach for hours. The moon cannot speak to her, but wants to tell her that there is so much more in the world to wish for than people who like her. The moon wants Annabelle to know that she will be respected and loved and that it will all be deserved. She wants to tell Annabelle that a lingering sadness is to be expected, but that does not make her choices any less meaningful. She wants to tell Annabelle that she is much more than what her mother says, what is expected of her, or what she has to hide. There is so much more to her than what she cannot say.

The moon wants to tell her that even when only half of the moon shines, the other half is still there.

Annabelle does not know this, but stares at the moon regardless, as she releases her thoughts into the world. And when she stands, ready to return to her bed, she feels lighter. She casts one last glance at the moon, silently thanks it for being there, and leaves the ocean, even if only temporarily.

* * *

Orda Brie is no longer Annabelle’s handmaiden. She resigned several weeks ago. They are simply friends, lying on the beach together, admiring the vast expanse of the Dairy Sea and listening to the waves crashing on the beach. Annabelle still lives in the Castle of House Cheddar, and her mother still sits upon the throne there, but it’s common knowledge that Annabelle has given up her right to rule, and she pretends not to notice the withering glances sent her way and the reports of bold lords that are subtly testing the power of Pecorina, knowing that she has no heir anymore. 

These things are easy to ignore today, as she basks in the light of the Bulb. She isn’t even bothered at the space between her and Orda, which seems miles instead of inches. They haven’t touched since she revoked the throne, Annabelle can still clearly hear the moment when Orda asked her not to wish that they would marry, and she has tried to keep a respectful distance since then, just grateful to have her friend back. She’s listening to Orda rant about an exchange she had at the market in Lacramor, but more than listening, she’s staring at Orda. She’s radiant, even as she describes shoving a man in the street, the ferocity and passion coloring her face only making Annabelle admire her more. 

“Are you listening to me?” Orda interrupts her thoughts, rolling her eyes when Annabelle doesn’t say anything. Orda stands, leaving her sitting on the sand and strides towards the water. Grinning, Annabelle kicks off her boots and scrambles up, following Orda to where she stands in the wet sand, letting the waves wash over her feet. 

Annabelle stops just out of reach of the waves. “Are you really mad at me?”

The other girl doesn’t turn around. The waves continue their push and pull, depositing sand and taking it out to sea, the froth indistinguishable from the white of the milky waves. 

“No.”

But Annabelle doesn’t move. She knows Orda well enough to know that even if she isn’t angry at Annabelle for not listening, there is something else on her mind. She thinks the best thing to do is to sit back and wait so she does, looking out over the horizon, imagining that one day she would be able to sail far away from Lacramor. It is a nice thought.

“I don’t understand you,” Orda starts, squinting her eyes to look up at the Bulb, “I thought... Well, when I was a kid I could never imagine a day where we didn’t talk. But then… it’s like you disappeared. Or pulled back. You were always distant. And now it’s like that never happened,” she continues, and Annabelle feels a pit grow in her stomach. “You haven’t been my friend in years.”

“I know,” Annabelle responds, remaining in her spot slightly behind Orda, “I’m sorry for that. I… I don’t even have a good explanation. I was afraid.”

Orda turns to her now, and steps towards her. They are standing very close together.

“What were you afraid of?” She whispers, staring into Annabelle’s eyes. She looks like she knows the answer.

Annabelle swallows, her pulse rapid, “I was. I was afraid that I would accidentally tell you that I…” she swallows again. The light from the Bulb makes the top of her head hot. “I didn’t want to make you feel uncomfortable because I- I like you.”

Orda smiles at that, narrowing her eyes in amusement, “You just like me?”

She rushes to explain, “I mean, I like you more than a friend. I get breathless when you hold my hand, I think about you all the time, I wake up early because that’s when you like to wake up. I didn’t even think about how I was hurting you because I was so scared of you hating me because I thought I could love you. Maybe. I like you like that kind of ‘I like you’.”

Orda steps even closer now, and Annabelle has to look down at her. She holds her breath, a tiny irrational part of her mind is convinced that the shorter girl is about to shove her or something, even as the rest of her brain has short-circuited from being this close to the subject of her affection. Orda reaches a hand up and grasps Annabelle’s shoulder, pulling her down. She pauses, waiting for Annabelle’s response, but all that Annabelle can do is nod dumbly as her lips approach Orda’s. 

The waves rush to meet the beach, splashing up over the two girl’s feet. Annabelle has no time to think about being in the open, what people would think of the former heir to the throne of the Dairy Islands kissing her ex-handmaiden, there is only the glorious feeling of the seawater on her feet and the hands in her hair. 

If this is what it means to forfeit her right to rule, Annabelle would do it again in a heartbeat. She would choose this kiss over the duties of the Princess in every lifetime, damn the consequences.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!! if u want to talk to me im @housecheddar on twt and wildsorcerer on tumblr!


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